


Forest Ghost

by BlackHunter666



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Forest Spirits, Gen, Gradual Romance, Interconnected lives, Working both sides
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22952755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackHunter666/pseuds/BlackHunter666
Summary: In the middle of the Revolutionary War, a young woman has to forge her own path. Alone in a rapidly changing world, she makes deals left and right, doing whatever it takes to survive the upheaval and come out successful. both sides see the value in courting her, but no one knows just how to win her over on a more permanent basis.
Relationships: Benjamin Tallmadge/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	Forest Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to write this one in a slightly different style. Instead of a full, overreaching plot, I'm planning on a series of smaller chapters that show the story through Emily's perspective only. There will be connections between chapters, but perhaps not the clearest ones.
> 
> If that's not something you want to read, feel free to skip my story completely.

I go by many names, depending entirely on who you speak with. Everyone has a different name for me and my purpose in these woods. None of them are particularly polite, but such is the burden that comes with my chosen path.

My momma named me Emily, but my papa always called me his princess. My brothers just called me sissy.

The British call me a scourge, a thief, and a violent criminal - taking all that I please and leaving death in my wake. Little do they realise I am so much more than that.

The civilians in the towns I range near, if they know I am there call me a wild woman and usher their children away. They do not realise I am there only to protect them.

The Patriots call me a rogue and a privateer, though I have never been to sea before. They talk of my greed and violence, insisting that no man stray from camp alone.

The local natives know me simply as a protector and a friend, an ally against those who would tear down their homes. I wish I could do more for them.

Even the Queen's Rangers have a title for me, a fantasy told to scare children. A figment of someone's imagination, told time and time again until it became a myth.

Personally, I like the title I have heard whispered by those that I have been able to assist through these dark times. They call me the Spirit of the Forest.

I know I cannot help everyone, I am just one woman with plans of my own and a deep seated need to find revenge for my family. But as I hunt for those responsible for my personal pain, I do what I can to ease the burdens of those who have been forced to make painful decisions just to survive this damned war.

True, I steal from the British forces but all that I take, I give to the people who need it the most. Food for the hungry, blankets for the cold and coin to ease their struggles. Each gift signed cleverly with a single leaf from my forest home to remind people I do exist. I spell out my warnings in arrows left embedded in British doors, always careful not to actually harm anyone. Though having their wig shot clean off does tend to scare the British into retreat.

Most of the time though, I stay away from the hamlets surrounding my forest home. I am not like those people, my heart too wild to ever fit in with civilised folk. I belong among the trees, hunting and stalking those that stole everything from me. I will find them and I will make them pay for their transgressions. So while I wait for my chance to strike, I tend to the civilians caught up in the war and help them survive as best anyone can without raising suspicion.

I prefer to stay deep in the forest, far from the usual travel routes with my small collection of animals and my secret farmlands. Scattered among the trees, fenced in and well tended, I keep small beds overflowing with fruits, vegetables and medicinal herbs. There are larger beds for grain and a special area turned towards making enough hay to feed my horses and straw for their beds.

My horses are a special collection, rescued from the battlefields around my forest home and nursed back to health. Six so far, three geldings, two mares and a stallion. Each one bears the marks of war, round, puckered scars where I have fished musket balls from their flesh or long swipes from bayonets and swords. 

Sometimes it is a struggle to sit back and do nothing, a mere bystander to the unholy savagery waged across these lands. Endless battles, the forest echoing with the roar of cannons and the ring of swords clashing. The cries of the wounded and dying, man and beast alike. Thoughtless destruction and senseless deaths, so many bodies left where they lay. Such a waste of life, of all forms.

War makes orphans of us all, really. Soldiers and civilians but also the innocent animals caught up in the cruelty of war. Horses for certain, but also the wild animals who have nowhere truly safe to hide. Which is how I ended up with an eagle and a wolf sharing my simple home and learning how to live in harmony with my horses.

The eagle came to me as an abandoned chick, knocked from her nest by cannon fire. I suppose it was chance that I found her before the stampede of retreating men trampled her fragile body into the mud. I took her home and raised her myself, though teaching her to fly was frustrating for us both I expect. She learned in the end and now stays close by, sharing my meals and calling when she spots threats close to our home range.

My wolf was a gift from a local tribe. They had found the den on a hunting trip and witnessed a white man shoot the mother for no clear reason. Four little orphans in desperate need of a new mother. The moment I walked into their village to trade, one of the elders thrust the smallest cub into my hands and told me to keep him safe and well. I did as he asked, raising the cub with all the attention of a mother and her son. He has grown into a strong warrior, fierce and dependable when our home is threatened.

Together we patrol the forest and deal out our own kind of justice to those who enter our home with the intent to cause harm. We do not care about the colour of their uniform; we will defend our forest home until the very end. This accursed war has already taken too much from us.


End file.
